Water

Laws kept us from growing our own food. They deemed it as unsafe when their surveys found toxins in the soil. They made us buy their food wrapped in plastic and conveniently available at every corner. Shelter, fuel, entertainment and anything else you could possibly need or want were all made accessible only through monthly payments to one corporation or another. We subscribed or we struggled, and it was always presented as a great deal.

When everything else was already monetized and inaccessible, Reliable Consumables turned its attention towards water. We already had bottles of it in any convenience store fridge, but free access from fountains or the ground or our home faucets was seen as “not profitable” in the eyes of the corporations. We fought, we refused, but in the end our efforts were for naught.

Water that didn’t come from a specialized subscription-based faucet or fountain was deemed toxic, and those that tried to drink anything else did indeed suffer. The only other safe way to drink was from plastic bottles, but we still tried our best to find a way out of that final grasp. Yet, much like anything else, the ire was quickly forgotten. In a matter of years, those that had fought with us and demanded justice were now complacent just like any other.

We still travel. We still believe. We’ve been looking for a solution. We’ve been looking for water.

I’m old and tired, and the last time I saw you was over a decade ago. I still think about you. I still wonder where you’ve been or what you’ve found. It used to be that all I could think about was water, but ever since we separated, all I can think about is you.

Still, I wake up every morning on the road. I dig in the ground, I endure the insults and laughter of anyone passing by, but I can’t tell if I’m searching for moisture or you. Are you buried out here somewhere? Did you find something you shouldn’t have?

Where have you gone?

If I could only dig deep enough. If I could only find the right spot where the water still flows clean and free of their garbage. I know that if I could just dig it up, you’d be there, and you’d be happy to spend your time with me again. We could build our home around it. We could be happy and free in a land that has given up.

I pulled over. Somewhere in New Mexico was a small town that had been drier than just about anywhere else. It dried up before the water had all been packaged up and sold back to us as though they were doing us a favor. It was dusty, paint peeled everywhere I looked, and the sun threatened to melt everything around me down to nothing. I was thirsty, and so I reached into the back of my pickup for a canteen.

With a soft shake, I heard the mostly hollow interior echo with a warning: I would be out of water soon.

I slammed the door, heard the autolock mechanism click, and made my way towards a nearby saloon. I felt like I was in the wild west with all the dirt and ancient buildings, but the interior of the building was still modern enough to remind me of my mission. A card scanner locked me out of the water fountain, TVs advertised “fresh, clean water”, and a malfunctioning screen behind the bar displayed a menu when it wasn’t covered in static.

I coughed into my sleeve. It was a dry, wheezing cough, but it still somehow left behind a tiny bit of blood on my elbow. With a sharp inhale, I made my way to the bar. I refused to pay for water. I hadn’t done so in twenty-five years, but I didn’t mind dropping a few bucks on a beer. The bartender was a faceless facsimile of customer service, but it got me what I needed, and I swiped my card without resistance.

The bubbling, barley-flavored approximation of some domestic swill hit the spot. I sighed, let out another wheezing cough, and threw back the rest of the glass. Without a second thought, I ordered another to enjoy a bit slower and found my way to a table in the back. I needed something to keep me going during my dig, so I filled my canteen first. The rest of it was a nice treat while I stared at the disturbing advertisement after disturbing advertisement. Water, medicine, rental properties in a place that’s greener.

Water the lawns. We certainly wouldn’t want the churches and golf courses to turn brown now would we?

The legs of my chair grinded against the floor with a disruptive groan as I stood to depart. The cool air was a nice reprieve, but I needed to get started with my dig. I had little hope that I’d find anything in this town, but hope was there just the same. I had to try. I had to try every opportunity I came across.

I had to dig, and I had to hope.

If I didn’t, nobody would. Sure, you might be out there somewhere, but I couldn’t leave it on just your shoulders. If you were digging, I was digging, and if you couldn’t, then I couldn’t stop.

It was a short drive to where I’d be working that day, and it was a short hour before I had gathered the usual audience. I ignored their jeers, spit and attempts to bury me. It was always the same, but I knew the threats were empty. In this age, surveillance kept people in line for the most part. Usually, when people were being awful to me during a dig, their goal was to film it anyways. They wanted a reaction, but I just kept going even as dirt started to collide with my helmet.

I looked up at the instigator, “Please, be careful.”

My attention returned to the ground, but they didn’t stop shouting and kicking. One of them asked, “What’re you diggin for, stranger!?”

I wiped some sweat off my forehead and squinted through the sunlight, “Water.”

It wasn’t the right answer, apparently. Another one shouted through the din of laughter and gravel colliding with yellow barrier between them and my skull, “Water? What!? It ain’t in the ground! Anything down there is gone, moron!”

I smiled, and my arms drove the shovel deeper into the Earth. A bigger rock made a more concerning thud against my headgear, and I had finally had enough. I looked back up at them, “Hey! Don-”

I woke up with gravel and dirt falling from my mustache and into my mouth. I sputtered and spat it out while gasping for breath. It was dark, cold, and I was unable to move. I could barely even breathe, but I didn’t know how much I wanted to if fresh oxygen wasn’t reaching me. I tried to wiggle an arm free so I could start pulling myself out, but all of my efforts were met only with the space becoming more compact. If I wanted to survive, I would need to stay perfectly still.

My lung capacity had been reduced severely as the shifted earth crushed my chest ever so slightly with each exhale. I resisted the urge to sigh.

I resisted the urge to scream.

Over time, I felt myself growing tired, sleepy, and my eyes started to flutter. They were so heavy. Then, with time, I didn’t really want to keep them open at all.

Why was I resisting?

A sharp pain in my neck and another painful thud brought me back to life. I could barely hear or understand what was going on around me at all, but I definitely recognized the words. I heard you say, “Oh there you are! Thank goodness!”

I felt your hands brush against my face as you dug me free. I coughed up more dirt and gravel and then eventually the more usual blood. I heard you sigh, “You need water.”

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

My voice was so weak, but you still laughed. It was angelic.

I cried, “How’d you find me?”

You smiled, “I had a feeling you’d be passing through here. Any luck?”

Wiping dirt from my face and still trying to catch my breath, I sighed. Nothing could prepare me for disappointing you. Even back then, when we were working together as a team, the idea of letting you down always filled me with dread. To hear you ask me that question so casually, I had to work up to the answer through my tears.

“Not yet.”

You kept smiling, “Then I guess we better get back to it. Where’s your shovel?”